The boy looks beyond the gate. He sees his father, still in his work attire, carrying the items the boy desperately needed. Arcoss the island and back, the journey would definitely tire the middle-aged father. But still the father came.

Among the bags his father handed him, one of them clearly were not part of the packing list. A familiar bag from the fast-food outlet. The boy could only down the apple pie and orange juice. And then he stared at the Big Mac, and he stared. He could not bring himself to dispose of it. For it was incomprehensible to him how his tired father, without his request, could bother to get the food for him.

The night was cold, but the boy's heart was warmed. And if he was not in an institution of man, he would have let a tear flow free from his eye.

The boy knew this all along. But perhaps it is more apparent now as he will soon depart on his own journey. He often wonders how he could repay all this. Probably, the answer is never.

A dedication to the parents of the boy. For all they did for him. Not just in the preparations for his trip, but for everything all his life.

There is no one like you, no one like a parent.

The boy loves you.